About a dad

Glenn Russell Bandy

May 6, 1925 - December 26, 2008

Glenn Russell Bandy, 83, of Champaign passed away at 3:10 p.m. on Friday, Dec. 26, 2008, at Carle Foundation Hospital, Urbana.

My words at my dad's funeral

For a funeral, I usually try to fight my Reubenesque body into Spanx or at least control top panty hose.  What a relief not to be in that position today.  My dad liked to be comfortable.  He liked lounging in his PJ’s and wearing elastic waist slacks.  I come by it honestly!  He didn’t even wear a tie to prom, much to my mother’s chagrin.  Ah, yes, also an example of his Taurus stubbornness.

And you may have noticed that we’re not having music at his funeral.  As my dad’s hearing worsened, his interest in music waned.  However, he was never a big fan, and now you know why our family attended the first service (choirless) at University Place Christian Church.

I shared a deep bond with my dad.  I once asked my mother why I didn’t have any siblings, and she said that my dad didn’t think he could love another child as much as he loved me.  I don’t think that’s true.  His heart was filled with love.

My dad and mom were married when they were only nineteen.  I have never seen a man love a woman so devotedly as my dad loved my mom for over sixty years.  Every single time he looked at her, it seemed like he fell in love with her again.  It was incredible to witness and also an incredible example.

My dad’s love was deep for everyone in his birth family.  I never heard cross words between any of them. As I was growing up, we would drive to Litchfield at least one weekend each month, also stopping to visit my mother’s siblings' families in Decatur and Taylorville.  These family experiences shaped me and gave me the “sisters” (cousins) that I so need today.

I have heard that my dad slept with his younger brother in his arm.  My dad was protective of his brother, Bill, and I think never outgrew that feeling.  In my dad’s mind he was convinced that he was taller than Bill when, in fact,  Brother Bill had grown taller than my dad many years earlier.  Those two brothers were Cubs’ fans and remained eternally optimistic that “this would be the year!”

I think one of the reasons that my dad and I have been so close is because of the agoraphobia, anxiety, and panic attacks my mother suffered from the time I was seven until after I was married, when medication was finally developed to completely control her condition.

He was a rock for me.  Stable.  Someone to lean on.  When the doctor informed us that I would have to wear a back brace for my scoliosis, I ran to his arms.

And how he sacrificed.  My father hated to shop and, yet, on Friday evenings after supper, during my elementary school years, he would give me one dollar and take me shopping in downtown Champaign.  I didn’t spend that dollar quickly.  I had to slowly walk the aisles at Kresgees,  Grants, Walgreen’s, well, you get the picture.  I often ended up with those little candles that were made in different shapes for the holidays.

My father was blessed with the coordination of a great athlete.  He pitched at age 15, left-handed, of course, on a men’s team and could have signed a contract with the minor leagues.  He was also a great basketball player.

I, on the other hand, was a reader and not a player, but he never seemed a bit disappointed.  He started taking me to the Illini football games when I was ten.  He taught me the rules, explained the plays, and made me an enthusiastic college football spectator.  Even now, during the fall, I am parked on the couch at 11:00 a.m. and try not to move until the last televised game is over.  We also went to many Illini basketball games, even at Huff Hall, where I saw more pillars than players.

Besides sports, my dad was a whiz at math.  He could do those parlor games, like add huge numbers together without writing them down.  He was also a great bridge and pinochle player, because he remembered every card played.  It was a challenge being his partner, worse being his foe.

My dad was a member of  Tom Brokaw’s Greatest Generation, a man who served in the Army in World War II.  He scored so highly on the IQ tests that on the ship over to France his job was to teach the other soldiers French.  My dad didn’t know a word of it!  I can’t imagine my dad as a soldier.  He didn’t like to hunt and wouldn’t even have another dog after he had to have our dear 15-year-old Susie put down.

I definitely got my love of dogs from my dad.  Trixie and Pal were two of his more than 25 furry friends.  Sadly there were no leash laws when he grew up and too many found themselves victims of train wheels.

Talking about things my dad loved, dessert is near the top.  A restaurant buffet lost money on him.  From pudding to pie to ice cream to cake, he would have it all.  This past year, everyone really indulged his sweet tooth.  And when I visited at the Arbours‘ Court, right after he greeted me, he would ask what I had brought for "coffee break!"  I bet you’re seeing a lot of similarities between my dad and me.

When I was a young girl, a woman commented to me (in front of my mother), “You look so much like your mother.”  My reply, “Have you met my father?”

I loved my dad’s twinkling blue eyes.  Behind them was a dry sense of humor that was with him to the end, despite his dementia.  He enjoyed bantering and teasing.  He was also quite gracious and accompanied us to the door at the end of every visit.

I never saw my dad lie or cheat, not even on taxes.  He was the first to lend a hand to others.  He never worshipped money or his work and was not ambitious.  His priority was those he loved.

Last night I was reading through the Psalms and realized that it is by my dad’s example that I am able to understand and rejoice in the love of our Heavenly Father.  As the Psalmist says:
    But you, O Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God,
    Slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.  --Psalm 86:15

    The works of his hands are faithful and just. --Psalm 111:7

My dad never talked of dying but did believe that all of his days had been written in a book.   (All the days ordained for me were written in your book  --Psalm 139:16.)  His dementia laid waste to his body and mind, but my dad’s love never failed.

The last few days in the hospital my dad’s voice was weak, his body seemed agitated, and I could rarely understand his words.  But when we left Christmas evening, he kissed me, hugged me and said he loved me, and then looked at Bob and told him that he loved him too.

In the manner that we always parted, I said, “See you later, alligator,” and he replied, “After while, crocodile.”  Those were his last words.  A wonderful, no, the perfect, Christmas gift.